


Another Lazy Morning

by thelilnan



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Intercrural Sex, M/M, Morning Sex, Sleepy Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-17
Updated: 2013-02-17
Packaged: 2017-11-29 13:55:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/687737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelilnan/pseuds/thelilnan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock and John wake up together. Or rather, Sherlock wakes John up and bugs him for sex.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Another Lazy Morning

John wakes up nested under a large but light weight quilt. He notices a few things in that fuzzy consciousness one generally finds himself in upon first opening his eyes; he notices the drool caked onto his cheek. He notices the stiffness in his neck from sleeping pointedly away from the pillows. Thirdly, he notices that he is completely naked and that this is not his bed. The two thoughts occur simultaneously.

As he endeavors to crack open his eyes to the soft, grey light awaiting him, he hears a low rumble of a chuckle from his bedmate. Sherlock, then. The only person John knew who could wake up, likewise naked, and chuckle. Surely enough, he feels cold, long fingers wind into his hip and drag him close.

“Good morning.”

John shushes him and tries to sleep a bit more. Sherlock will have none of it.

“I’m hard,” he coos, nuzzling under his chin, “Fix it.”

John does no such thing. Instead, he yawns and curls up into a ball. Hedgehog.

“If you must be so difficult,” the warm, dark voice filters in through his sleep-heavy brain and pulls him to consciousness, “Roll onto your side.”

He does, and soon after feels Sherlock’s chest press firmly against him. His cock, hot and hard and urgent, nudges up between his thighs, awakening a pang of lust inside his chest.

John mumbles and allows Sherlock to fuck between his thighs.

It’s a careful edge of consciousness and sleep that John tiptoes as Sherlock’s hips nudge urgently, a kind of animalistic intensity behind his arousal. He’s too turned-on to sleep, but too tired to get more than half-hard. So he focuses on his breathing, not Sherlock’s on his neck, and tries to recapture some darkness before his shift in God only knows when.

Sherlock’s hand, hot and possessive, curls around his chest, dragging him back like he’s a pillow to be humped and Sherlock can’t figure out just how to position it. John sighs, mind blissfully calm and blank though Sherlock fucks his thighs and grunts into his hair. The well-trimmed thatch of hair just at Sherlock’s groin brushes him and scrapes and John tries hard to focus on the feeling of lead in his bones so he doesn’t have to deal with sex just now. He wants Sherlock to come and messy up his thighs, if only because he knew it would grant him peace.

Sherlock whispers filthy fantasies in his ear, and John lets out a pathetic noise of wanting. His cock lazily fills against his will but then there’s Sherlock’s tongue, tracing and flicking at his ear; his most sensitive erogenous zone. John moans a deep, soft, boneless moan and suddenly the dull throbbing between his legs becomes an insistent ache.

Then Sherlock’s hand reaches down and thumbs at his foreskin, and John’s breath hitches and he tries to hide his face. His thighs squeeze and Sherlock bucks and John begs for him to be inside. Something about him, his desperation, spurs on Sherlock to fuck through his thighs harder, the jarring slapping noises wrenching sharp ‘Ah!’s from John’s lungs and it isn’t long before the two, sleepy, aroused, barely coherent, writhe together and roll under the single quilt that adorns Sherlock’s bed until one or both of them come and it’s hot and messy and John keens from some dark, reserved place deep inside while Sherlock pins him down and ruts into his ass with abandon, coming with scratches and a broken noise of defeat and shivering like a leaf tied tenuously to a tree branch.

They fall asleep without another word, red faced, sweat coated, sticky and satisfied. John doesn’t even mind when his alarm goes off who knows when later and he finds himself stuck to Sherlock.

He hits Snooze and curls up underneath his flatmate, content to deal with being late yet again.

 

End.


End file.
